And what keeps your thought
For possession of this mind
But the think that you have brought
That no other has brought to find

A kiss I may take from any
For which I am to choosy to do
For a thought I choose not from many
And yet on yours I constantly chew

Not fodder left for the many
But the finest of grain to be had
A choice of which there is not plenty
And yet I feed from the palm of your hand